Davad gawked at her. “I ... I don't know. I don't talk to him.”

“Fine.” She threw back her head and bellowed in her best first mate's style. “Boy! Get out here and tend to these horses. House steward! Your master is home!”

Someone lifted a corner of a curtain and peered out at them. She heard footsteps inside the house, and then caught a glimpse of movement in the shadowy courtyard. She turned toward it. “Get out here and take these horses.”

The slender figure hesitated. “Now!” she barked at him.

The boy that emerged from the shadows was no more than eleven years old. He came as far as the horses' heads, then halted uncertainly.

Althea snorted in exasperation. “Oh, Davad, if you can't learn to manage your servants, you should hire a house steward who can.” Her tact was all worn away.

“I suppose you're right,” Davad agreed humbly. He clambered down from the carriage. Althea stared at him. In the ride from the Concourse to his home, Davad had become an old man. His face sagged, bereft of the cockiness that had always characterized him. He had not been able to avoid the manure and blood. It smeared his clothes. He held his hands out from himself in distaste and distress. She looked up to meet his eyes. He looked apologetic and hurt. He shook his head slowly. “I don't understand it. Who would do something like this to me? Why?”

She was too tired to answer so large a question. “Go inside, Davad. Have a bath and go to bed. Morning is soon enough to think about all this.” Absurdly, she suddenly felt he needed to be treated like a child. He seemed so vulnerable.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “There's a lot of your father in you, Althea. We didn't always agree, but I always admired him. He never wasted time in parceling out blame; like you, he simply stepped up to solve the problem.” He paused. “I should have a man escort you home. I'll order up a horse and man for you.” He did not sound certain he could do it.

A woman came to the door and opened it. A slice of light fell out. She peered out, but said nothing. Althea's temper snapped. “Send out a footman to help your master into the house. Have a hot bath drawn for him and lay out a clean robe. See that hot tea and a simple meal is prepared for him. Nothing spicy or greasy. Now.”

The woman darted back into the house, leaving the door ajar. Althea heard her passing on the commands shrilly.

“And now you sound like your mother as well. You've done so much for me. Not just tonight, but for years, you and your family. How can I ever pay you back?”

It was the wrong moment to ask her such a question. The stable boy had come. The lamp revealed a spidery tattoo by the side of his nose. The ragged tunic he wore was scarcely longer than a shirt. He cowered from Althea's black-eyed stare.

“Tell him he's not a slave anymore.” Her voice was flat.

“Tell ... I beg your pardon?” Davad gave his head a small shake, as if he could not have heard her correctly.

Althea cleared her throat. It was suddenly difficult to have any sympathy for the little man. “Tell this boy he's not a slave anymore. Give him his freedom. That's how you could pay me back.”

“But I ... you can't be serious. Do you know how much a healthy boy like that is worth? Blue eyes and light hair are favored in Chalced for house servants. If I keep him a year and teach him some valet skills, do you know how much coin he'd be worth?”

She looked at him. “Far more than you paid for him, Davad. Far more than you could sell him for.” Cruelly, she added, “How much was your son worth to you? I've heard he was fair-haired.”

He blanched and stumbled backwards. He grasped at the carriage, then jerked his hand away from the blood-sticky door. “Why do you say such a thing to me?” he wailed suddenly. “Why is everyone turning against me?”

“Davad . . .” She shook her head slowly. “You have turned against us, Davad Restart. Open your eyes. Think what you are doing. Right and wrong is not profit and loss. Some things are too evil to make money from them. Right now, you may be gaining handsomely from the conflict between the Old and New Traders. But this conflict will not go on forever, and when it does end, there you will be. One side will see you as a runagate, the other as a traitor. Who will be your friends then?”

Davad was frozen, staring at her. She wondered why she had wasted her words. He would not heed her. He was an old man, set in his ways.

A footman came out of the door. He was chewing something and his chin shone with grease. He came to take his master's arm, then cringed away with a gasp. “You're filthy!” he exclaimed in disgust.